


L—NT—ZOO

by demonfox38



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Dead animals, Other, bad times in fun places, zoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9684764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonfox38/pseuds/demonfox38
Summary: A hunt for food turns into a hunt of the world's most dangerous game. Cut off from his guns and weapons, Ellis has to find a way out of the remnants of a dilapidated zoo. If only it was empty...





	1. Chapter 1

Ellis never thought a jar of peanut butter would cause this much trouble.

Then again, this whole zombie apocalypse was nothing but trouble. Even the smallest of issues made mountains out of mole hills. For example, finding food. Entire malls had gone bad after a few days, especially the sensitive stuff like fruits and frozen food. Finding anything edible was bare minimum for getting by. Finding something remotely nutritious was a bonus. So really, discovering the peanut butter should have been a boon. Might have been hard to eat without fresh milk, but at least it was a source of protein.

So, when the big man came over, Ellis rattled happily on about his find. “Man, Coach, I never thought I’d be so damn happy to see peanut butter. Not that I hate it or anything, but never could have it all that much. See, Keith, ya know, he had this brother, Paul, and Paul was deathly allergic to peanuts. A ‘course, I didn’t know that, so when he traded lunches with me, his face puffed up like—Gah!”

There was a sharp pain in his neck. It hurt a little, but it was more surprising than anything else. And cold. Weirdly cold. He felt the side of his neck, finding a tufted object lanced in place. He pulled it out, blood following shortly after. A dart.

“Coach, that had better have been a—whoa.” A chill swept through Ellis’ head. It spread through his sinuses, down his back, through his legs. He stumbled, falling backwards into another store shelf. The big man approached him, footsteps silent and sure.

His lungs were seizing up. “Coach, why—why—why’d ya—”

The big man reached down for him.

Ellis froze.

It was a big man, but it wasn’t Coach. He was a little shorter, wider. He had a black t-shirt with some kind of symbol on his breast pocket. Wasn’t CEDA, though. Wasn’t anything Ellis recognized. The stranger’s arms were matted with thick, curly hair. He had a farmer’s tan, but he wasn’t all that dark. He was bald, though. He was big, too. He had a gun.

And he’d opened fire.

 “Get…get…” Ellis raised his left hand, trying to force the big man back. His stomach made a sharp twist. He was sweating, but he was so cold. His vision was getting dark. Geez, where was everybody? Nick? Rochelle? Coach? Especially Coach! Why wasn’t this guy Coach?

He tried to speak—to scream.

For once, Ellis was silenced.

The world morphed itself beneath his prone head. Even a survivor of the apocalypse couldn’t get used to how often the planet flipped him the bird. Darkness begat darkness. Tile smoothed to cement. Decay bloomed. That was what bothered him the most—that dragged him back into reality by his curly hair.

Red and white stripes cut across his vision. Popcorn fell from its binds. Man, popcorn sounded good. He spent a little too much brain power debating whether or not to eat it. Even his muddled mind knew that wasn’t what he needed to be worried about, at that very moment. More concerning were the stipes beyond stripes—the iron bars slammed before his face.

This sure as shit wasn’t the store anymore.

Ellis jumped to his feet, stumbling backwards like he was in a drunken haze. The shot hadn’t worn out of his system. His left foot caught the hem of his coveralls. He thought his heart was going to jack-hammer out of his chest. Fear cracked the timbre in his throat, twisting his larynx. “Coach? Ro? Nick? Jesus, this ain’t funny, guys!”

Coach wasn’t there. Neither were Ro, Nick, or any saviors he could cry out to.

But, the big man was.

“You again?” Ellis snapped.

The big man didn’t answer.

Ellis’s skin crawled. That shining in his eyes wasn’t normal. It was glimmering, a yellowish-green membrane coating his eyes. He stood up again, trying to get whatever control he could of his situation. “C’mon, man. Where am I?”

Dull, white light shifted in the distance. It shimmered between the big man and the country boy, striking the surfaces between them. More of his surroundings came into view. There was cement all around him, save for a spindly fake tree. A blue bowl of water on the floor. A dead ape lying face-down in it.

It was all Ellis could do not to shriek like a little girl.

“Let me outta here, you sonnova bitch!” He snatched the bars to the ape’s cage, shaking them as hard as he could. “I ain’t no goddamn monkey! Let me out!”

Stupid cognizance slimed Ellis’ will. If a goddamn monkey couldn’t break out of here, what chance did he have?

The big man gasped, grunting and groaning for breath. It wasn’t so much out of surprise as it was pain. Now he was this close to the man, Ellis could see what was wrong with him. His blood was running dark, his veins varicose through his exposed skin. It was started to tear—to bloat. Vomit caked the corners of his lip. The big man was infected, but not quite finished changing. Something in between. Something that still thought it was human.

And thought Ellis was an ape, apparently.

Well, fine. He could work around those misconceptions. “Look, man. I got friends that need me. We’re tryin’ to get to New Orleans. Ya know? The evac zone?”

The big man grunted.

“You’ve got to get me back to them,” Ellis urged. “They’re pro’lly worried sick ‘bout me! Runnin’ around and lookin’ everywhere for me!”

All he got out of the big man was another grumble.

Ellis rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe not Nick, but my point still stands. If they get hurt while they’re out ‘n about, I’ll never forgive myself! Or you!”

A howl cut off his pleas.

It was coming from around the corner, echoing off brick walls. At first, he thought it was someone crying, some other person trapped in here with him. Then, the crying turned into screaming. One, two. Ten? A whole damn choir of infected. There were others down here, others besides the large man. They were all sick, all pounding weakly against their own cages, vomit and blood dribbling from their lips.

Very, very sick.

Ellis felt his stomach sink. How long had they been here? Were they turned before the big man had caught them, too? Or, did he infect them? His fingers tightened, doubt slamming into his thick skull. He just had to wander off from the group, didn’t he? Just had to go get some goddamn peanut butter!

Stupid damn peanut butter. Wasn’t even smooth. Just that cheap, chunky junk. Probably had that toxic xylitol shit in it, too.

One low boom drove Ellis out of his muddy thoughts. “Be back.”

“Come again?” Ellis asked.

The big man repeated himself. “Be back. Later.” He turned away, his profile looming. “Work to do.”

Glassy eyes stared into the unknown. With halting steps, the big man lugged away. Screaming faded with his departure. So too went the lights. Ellis backed away from his bars, desperate to get into any bright spot. All that glowed around him was sickened, slimy—yellow.

Staying here was a no-go. He had to get out ASAP. Find a telephone. Find some way to get ahold of his friends. He started pacing around the ape complex, looking for a false panel or a door. One panel had something like a metal nub on its face. Ellis cussed. Great. A door that locked from the outside.

He threw himself against the door and cussed again.

Fear washed over anger. It smothered Ellis in its toxic wave. How long would it take him to dehydrate? Starve? Asphyxiate? Would his friends ever know what happened to him? He placed his hands on the sides of his cap, rolling his head backwards. This was not the time to be freaking out. Not even his sunny disposition could blast away the darkness around him, the dead and diseased eyes that watch him squirm like the parasites in their skin.

A shot of cold air smacked him sober.

Ellis stopped his struggles. Now, even his eyes glowed in the dark. A smile crept to the corner of his lips. Of course. An air duct. It was covered with metallic grating, but that wasn’t so much of a problem. It was held together with simple screws, the kind that flathead screwdrivers could undo. Of course, that required having a screwdriver on hand, but Ellis had made bigger repairs with cruder tools.

If he survived this damn apocalypse, he was going to be the best goddamn mechanic in the whole fucking land. Straight up MacGyver.

Ellis dug through the trash in the ape’s complex. How had all of this shit gotten in here? Kids, probably. The kinds that got kicks out of flicking food and shit at animals. When the monkeys weren’t flinging shit back, anyway. Maybe even the big man had left something behind. He sure kept dropping food and kibble into a pile. Not like the ape had any use for that, anyway.

Defiant optimism spurred Ellis on. There had to be one. Just one. That was all he needed.

Dim light shimmered. It was enough to catch Ellis’ eye. There it was, right in the hollow body cavity of the dead ape—a single coin. It must have eaten it, although Ellis couldn’t figure why. Just must have eaten anything it was given. Somehow, Ellis expected better out of an ape. Even a dog wouldn’t—

Well, maybe that was a bad example.

At the very least, it should have tried to escape—just like Ellis was.

But damn, the things he had to do to get out of here! His nose crinkled, fingers twitching as he reached into the creature’s decaying gullet. He babbled as he worked, desperate not to think about the stench assaulting him, the slime coating his fingers. “C’mon, Ellis. Just like—just like that time in Keith’s bathroom. Just like that shower drain.” He shuddered as he hit something tangled. “God, nobody should have that much hair crammed into a pipe!”

Metal ridges brushed past his fingertips. Ellis yanked it back. Gunk coated the face of his freedom. Stubborn thumbs wiped it away. There he was, Thomas Jefferson, his face etched in a perpetual stoic fashion on the surface of the dime. Ellis couldn’t help but smile. That old, horny son of a bitch was his ticket out of here.

He set right to work, fingers fumbling from nerves.

The dime slipped once. Twice. Right back onto the floor. Ellis didn’t care. He kept picking at it, chewing on his tongue as he felt the screws twisting. One cracked off. Another bounced to the floor. He didn’t even need to take off the last two screws, but he did so. For nothing else, just to show the damn screws who was boss.

It wasn’t easy, squeezing into the vents. Not like it was in spy movies. His shoulders were pushed down by the narrowness of the passage, his skin and clothes catching on every last unpolished edge. And the dust! That alone would have been enough to ruin any attempts at espionage. Not that Ellis had to be James Bond. He just had to get out.

If he could ever breathe without sneezing again. If he didn’t break the vents from their supports. If it wasn’t so humid in here. If he could ever stretch again. If something else wasn’t in here with him. If—

Ellis stopped. He rolled on his side, eyes and nose scrunched together. Desperation was screwing up his mind worse than the dust and the humidity. He never thought he had claustrophobia before, but he was starting to feel it. It was as if the metal plating was squeezing around him, squashing him flatter and flatter. He could hardly breathe over the debris and the moisture. Who would find him if he died up here? The maintenance guy? Sure wasn’t doing his job as it was. Not with this much dirt and heat.

He banged his head against the grate. “Get a hold ‘a yourself.”

He would live if he moved. He would die if he stopped.

So, he moved.

Callouses on his elbows scraped against the duct work. One nick, and his blood followed. Ellis kept his teeth clamped down. Any minute now, he’d find the other end of the grates. Some dead fan to kick out. A hole in the—

The metal beneath him buckled.

Ellis had maybe half of a second to realize that he was falling. Duct work came crashing to the ground. Its cacophony was louder than a New Orleans marching band parading through a cemetery. Crash! Crash! Crash! Ellis bunched up, squirming out of a gap in the plating. He clapped his ears over his head, struggling to push the ringing between his ears out of his brain. Well, that wasn’t pleasant. Or subtle. Or smart.

Neither was landing in a cage with a very meaty, very agitated Tank.


	2. Chapter 2

Now, Ellis had no misconceptions of what he was. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He was strong, but not as strong as the monster now eyeing him down. Or, at least, gurgling in his general direction. He wasn’t always the best person he could be, but there was no way he deserved this. Being caged God-knows-where with a Tank as his new cellmate? Bad. Super bad.

And, if he was very unlucky, the worst it was ever going to get.

Not that the Tank was any happier for his intrusion. It slammed its was over, drool frothing from its mouth. One fist left the ground. Ellis squirmed away before it could land on his head. His dive wasn’t about to win any Olympic medals, but it got the job done. Not that his brain was any great treasure. It was just the only one he had. It wasn’t like he could let some brute go squashing it like a watermelon.

Ellis grimaced. What would that actually make his head? A blood melon?

Priorities kept Ellis from thinking on that for too long. So, the big man that had caught Ellis nabbed this guy, too. Probably not when it was a Tank. Lord knows how anyone could have put a Tank in a cage. That led to a very natural question—how was this Tank still caged up? Could it not bend the bars? What about the door? Could it punch through that?

Maybe it hadn’t thought to do that. But, Ellis did.

“Hey, you!” Ellis backed up against one of the solid walls. “Buddy, have I got a job fer—”

The Tank cut him off with a roar and a smack.

Ellis dropped to the ground. Chunks of plaster followed his head. Alright. So, the Tank could bust these walls. A door should be nothing! The mechanic scrambled away, struggling to come up with an action plan. A Tank breaking a door, no problem. Getting a Tank to break a door? Well, it wasn’t like Ellis could talk it into doing that.

At least, it was already swinging. As long as it kept doing that—

A terrible thought dropped into Ellis’ head. It vaporized the rest of his plans, like rows of Tetris blocks crumbling. The Tank hated him. It was ready to crush him beneath its knuckles. All he had to do was lure it over to the door and duck. Sweat rolled down the brim of his hat. Sure! Easier thought than done!

Well, what else could he do? Not like he could win an arm wrestling match against the guy. Or a boxing match. Or even rock-paper-scissors.

Ellis shoved himself against the locked door. He tightened his fists, every muscle in his body twitching. “Alright, big guy. C’mon! Just one—”

He was about two seconds too slow to clear its shot.

Pain was the only sense Ellis had for a few moments. His back throbbed, bricks and wood bashing through him. The impact alone would leave bruises larger than angel wings. Worse was the agony beneath his ribs. Ellis poked himself in the gut. If that Tank hadn’t broken anything, it sure as shit had sprained it. Not even his lungs wanted to move, for how bad they ached.

This was no time to lie down and cry. Not without someone in his corner to catch him. But man, could Ellis have used a good pep talk from Coach.

Stubborn legs bucked up. Calloused fingers met rough walls. Ellis threw himself ahead, dodging the next star-shattering punch from the Tank. Light blurred as he ran, burning. Sickly eyes stared with envy through metal bars. Fluorescent tubes streaked over his head. Bigger and brighter than that was the light at the end of the tunnel, the beckoning glow of the sun drawing Ellis out of darkness.

Its lure didn’t last.

Ellis saw the sun dip its cowardly face. Orange light split the sky from the ground. He shook his head, stopping long enough to catch his breath. Damn it all! It was almost night!

What would be coming out, once the sun fell? Infected patrons? Fellow prisoners? Zombie animals? Not his friends. Moving at night was wishing for death. They didn’t do it unless they absolutely have to. Was Ellis a necessity? He sure didn’t feel like it. No one that would risk their neck for his stupid head.

He would have cursed and moped longer, had the Tank not caught up to him.

Trashcans flew out of the exhibit where Ellis and the Tank had been corralled. The Tank’s blasting roar wasn’t far behind it. Ellis bolted. Not that outrunning the Tank was an option. He had to get somewhere narrow, somewhere it couldn’t follow. Or at least, couldn’t find him. The oncoming night wouldn’t help him for jack shit, but it could at least give him a flimsy shadow to duck into.

Aching, clumsy legs rushed into the nearest exhibit. Tired feet stamped straight through dead flesh. Ellis cussed again, shaking remnants off his feet. A shark. A big, cool, toothy, dead shark. This zombie apocalypse sure knew how to piss him off! Not only did it kill off his favorite race car driver, but now, it had to take a bunch of cool ass fish down with it!

And, of course, it had to find new horrendous odors to torment him with.

Ellis put everything he could between him and the Tank. Dead sharks. Turnstiles. Chairs. Tables. He slipped deeper and deeper into the aquarium, past cracked tanks and glass archways that shattered into the halls. He fumbled into a counter. Squinting eyes widened. A food stand! Perfect!

Without a second thought, he flung himself over the counter, slamming its retracting curtain shut behind him.

Silence was his tormentor. Ellis fidgeted, his teeth digging into his lips. There was no sniffing. No grunting. Not a slam, or a crunch, or a roar. He folded his hands around his knees, forcing himself to wait just a little longer. A Tank wouldn’t wait forever for him. Eventually, it would run off, look for something else to wail on.

Counting to sixty seemed like a good idea. So, he did.

One. Two.

Skip a few.

Sixty.

With unusual trepidation, Ellis nudged the food stand’s curtain open. No throbbing pile of meat was waiting for him. He sighed. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to be serving that thing up food, anyway. Lord only knew what it would want. Probably Ellis burgers.

What a damn shame this place was. Dead animals. Hordes of caged up, agitated zombies. Nothing but stale popcorn and expired butter. Hell, not even that. Expired butter-flavored topping. Fatigue swooped in where adrenaline sweat out. Not even the brightest spark of optimism could withstand such a damp, heavy exhaustion.

Ellis braced himself against a white, plastic table, trying to keep his knees from buckling under him. He put his faith in the wrong support. Both he and the table crashed to the ground. Goddamn cheap-ass food court tables. He grabbed onto a chair, managing to haul himself upright into it. With a heavy flop, he took a seat and leaned back. He couldn’t run any further if he tried. He felt like his limbs were made of lead.

Maybe that was why he didn’t jump when he saw the big man turn the corner into the food court.

“Could ya just leave me alone?” Ellis asked.

The big man stared at him, lulling side to side in a dazed glance like a drunken cow. Green ooze dribbled down his black shirt, staining the white stitched logo over the left-hand pocket. Ellis didn’t know what to make of it at first. The big man—the Boomer, who was he kidding?—was just watching him again. Like he was on a safari. A bird watch. Just camping.

Ellis pushed the brim of his hat back, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Well? Whatchu gonna do? Shoot me again?” His eyes trailed down to the Boomer’s swollen, sore-caked fingers. “When did ya get infected, anyway?”

The Boomer responded with a short, bass grunt.

“What happened to all them other people?” Ellis continued babbling. “Did ya make them sick? Or, was it the other way around?”

Again, the Boomer grumbled.

Ellis shook his head. He leaned back, his strength draining down his arms and legs. “Why them? Why me? Why’d ya have to take me?”

The Boomer groaned, more bile drooling down his shirt. Ellis watched it with a sick fascination as it slid over his exposed, protruding belly. Sick thoughts wandered through his head. Just what did a Boomer do with his prey, anyway? What made him think the hick was worth snatching? Had he been grocery shopping, too? Ellis grimaced. The last thing he wanted to be was zombie food. Well, maybe zombie poop. Zombie food was a close second, though.

His gaze landed on the logo of the big man’s shirt. There was a white outline of a monkey. Most of the stitching below that was gummed over with slime. What was left uncovered read L—NT—ZOO. Now, Ellis was the one groaning. He might be an idiot, but he knew how to put two and two together.

“Zookeeper, huh?” Ellis sighed. “Should’ve figured.”

The Boomer grumbled—frothed.

It was a sound all too familiar to Ellis.

His muscles tensed. That Boomer was a volcano ready to blow. Ellis flung himself to the floor, diving behind the upturned table. Green bile blasted around him like a hurricane at full force. He scrunched his nose in disgust. Well, so much for pleasantries. Whatever the big man was before, it didn’t matter now. He was just a zombie, and Ellis was just his supper.

The Boomer slammed himself against the front of the table, shoving Ellis backward. It cracked under his mass. Ellis rolled out, throwing himself to his feet. The motion was too fast. Slick bile under his shoes negated all traction. He crashed backwards into more plastic furniture, his head smacking against the cool floors. Dots swarmed his vision.

One rumbling groan was the only warning Ellis got.

Rippling mass slammed into him. He shoved his arms forward, swinging and pushing at diseased flesh. One punch clocked the Boomer in the jaw. It stumbled backwards, but it didn’t stay back for long. Its meaty arm smacked Ellis in the temple. Hands raked down his face. It kept pushing him back, rolling forward forever, as unstoppable as a bolder.

The Boomer reached for his neck.

Ellis reach for a chair.

White legs speared forward. The Boomer wailed, groaned. Mucus and bile drained down Ellis’ fingers. He looked down. The chair was smaller than the Boomer’s girth. Much smaller.

Not even Vlad the Impaler himself could have had such luck running the Boomer through.

Gasses bubbled within the Boomer’s punctured belly. Bile roiled. Ellis had just enough time to close his mouth before the big man exploded. He blasted backwards, cracking his head once again. Like his brain needed any more trauma. Worse yet was what rained down on him. Blood. Skin. Bile.

He slid down the wall, coated in gore. “Ah, fuck me.”

His complaints were echoed by a synchronized scream.

Ellis jolted. Shit! Not more zombies! They could probably smell him all over the park. He grabbed the now-not-so-white chair again, his head swimming as he hefted it up. The counter’s grate was as good as five miles away, for how tired and discombobulated Ellis was. He wasn’t so much in spitting range of it before zombies swarmed around him.

He wiped the bile from his mouth and smiled. Well, they could come and get him.

Where were they all coming from, anyway? A local suburb? The zoo? The rows of pens that the zookeeper kept? It really didn’t matter, in the end. They were just there, swarming, too numerous to count. Ellis’ stomach twisted. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so swarmed, so absolutely overwhelmed by humanity’s crush. Not in school. Not in malls. Not in airports. Nowhere, but here.

All Ellis could rely on was what was in his hands, beneath his feet. A plastic chair was hardly the best weapon for killing a zombie. Certainly, not a horde. But, he had to keep fighting. Keep pushing them back. Keep living.

If it didn’t hurt to live, though.

It would have been so easy to lie down, let them beat him into hamburger. The Tank had done most of the work for them. His muscles were too tender, shoulders strained. Every swing of his chair felt harder, slower. He kept swinging. It didn’t matter if he wouldn’t live, if he’d never see his family or friends again. He just couldn’t lay down and die.

No. No, living mattered too much. He needed Coach. Rochelle. Nick. Keith. His mama, even if she didn’t know how to use a gun. He had to see them again. Dying like this—trapped like an animal—it was too low even for him. He had to live. He had to fight. He had to believe someone needed him, too.

Needed, it was hard to say. But wanted, yes.

Blood burst across his face. He gagged, pulling back from the source of the explosion. More popping came. Gunfire cut across the food court. Its cacophony rang off cement blocks, striking sick flesh down with its lightning and thunder. There was more air to swing through. More room to breathe. More life. Three more reasons to live.

The last zombie was his to take.

He cracked his chair across its face, breaking plastic and bone into dozens of white pieces.

His momentum was too strong, his legs too weak. Ellis twisted over his own feet. He landed in gunk and grime, wheezing. Wiping drool away from his lips only left a smear of gore alongside it. Kinder hands cleaned it away. Ellis looked up. His heart thumped harder than a puppy dog’s tail. How Rochelle managed to keep her nails so damn perfect during all of this, he didn’t know. He felt shameful for being unclean, for being a burden, for dragging his friends down once again.

If Rochelle had any contempt for him, it didn’t come out in her tone. “Sweetie? You okay?”

“Just fine, now.” He patted her right hand, careful to avoid her jewelry with his messy palms. “Can’t believe ya found me.”

She beamed, her earrings resting against her neck as she doted over him. “I’m a reporter. Finding shit’s my business.”

“Shit’s the key word there.” A rude knee nudged into his back. “Thanks for the detour, Overalls. You know how much time we lost hunting your sorry ass down?”

Ellis pulled his head back. “Nice to see you too, Nick.”

One more touched made him jump. Guilt spilled down his spine a second later. Ellis tried not to fuss as Coach looked him over. It wasn’t fair, to flinch like that. Coach wasn’t the big man. He didn’t want to hurt him. But, his shadow—the way he moved—

Coach saw the doubt hiding behind Ellis’ heavy eyes. “Boy, what in the hell happened to you?”

All he was asking was for Ellis to talk. At least he could do that. “Well, I was in the grocery section of that Piggly Wiggly back in that strip mall when I found some peanut butter. And I thought, ‘Score! Peanut butter!’ Right? ‘Cause it’s got protein and shit in it.” He stopped for a second, embarrassed. “Not that it was the good stuff, mind you. Chunky. Didn’t even check for xylitol. Can’t have that with us, in case we find any dogs to save.” His words gunked up, as if that same damn peanut butter was down his throat. “But, some guy came up behind me, and I thought…Well, I thought it was you, but…”

At the end, all he could do was sit still—silent.

Falcon sharp eyes flashed open. “Holy shit. You can shut up!”

Rochelle nudged Nick back. “Not the time!”

“Yeah. You’re right.” If anyone knew how to keep a team going, it was Coach. He tapped on Ellis’ shoulder. “Let’s get back to the Jimmy Gibbs, Jr. Alright? You can tell us the rest when you’re good and ready.”

That was all Ellis needed to hear. “Thanks, Coach.”

With a grin and a tug, Coach had Ellis back on his feet. One genuine smile earned another. Any anxiety Ellis had squirreled away fled. Coach was here. So were Nick and Rochelle. That was more than enough reason for him to smile again. As long as they had his back, he’d make it. He just had to repay the favor. It would be expensive and taxing—especially in Nick’s case—but, it would be worth it.

Doing this shit alone wasn’t easy.

“Say, where’d you park the Jimmy Gibbs, Jr. anyhow?” Ellis asked.

“In front of the big cat exhibit.” Nick grunted. “I had to shoot a fucking tiger to save your ass. You know how much that pisses me off?”

“Sorry, man. Tigers are pretty cool.” Ellis’ shoulders drop. With another bolt of energy, they shot back up. “Say, did ya take care of the Tank while you were at it?”

Rochelle glared through him. “What Tank?”

A wild roar had them all hauling ass back to their car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was in the process of moving to a new computer and backing up my files when I found a finished "Left 4 Dead 2" story from 2011 that I hadn't published. Not that it was bad! (Well, it was in rough shape in terms of focus and pacing, but I digress.) I think I was just trying to break away from this old habit and "try to be an adult" at the time. But look at how well that worked! 
> 
> How differently would my "writing" career had gone, had I not moved onto "Team Fortress 2" after this? One can only speculate.
> 
> Anyway! I hope it was worth the spit shine and time.


End file.
